I'm retired. Been that way for years. Only now am I sort'a, kind'a coming to the conclusion that the time clock is history. Man, did routine have me whipped. And the crazy thing is, I despise routine, always have. The crux of the matter is that the constant offensive/defensive hassle of everyday life for decades continues to cling to me like a traumatized cat.
Somewhere in my mind is a phantom that insists that there is something coming up that I must do, and I'm not alone, I think. I'm not talking about real needs such as paying bills, going to the store or a doctor's appointment. It's something I have to do or else my life will slam head first into an oncoming freight train. Something like finding a job, or a second or third job. It's ridiculous. I have everything I need and practically everything I want.
I'm not wealthy by many standards. I live on SS, and nothing else, but it's all good by me. I'm content. Life, for me, is overwhelmingly for entertainment purposes only.
So, what's the problem?
It's not like I don't do anything. I write as a hobby. I'm always on this contraption that I'm typing this on, now. As of now, I'm roughly halfway through self-producing a CD of original songs which serves as a vehicle for doing something productive. There's television, music and books. I work out. In no way do I miss sweating my ass off for lousy wages just so the asshole I'm working for can build a swimming pool in his backyard. But, apparently, all of this just ain't good enough.
This has been going on for six years.
Beneath the cloud.
A Break in the Clouds?
I've come to the conclusion, only recently, that when I get real tired, it's time to go to sleep. Then, when I awake and sincerely feel that I've had enough sleep, it's time to get up and do what the hell I've always really wanted to do in life.
Don'cha love progress, even if the wisdom came from the beautiful people of so, so long ago?